Consciousness
by A Darker Shade of Bright
Summary: I think life is like the Punctuated Equilibrium Theory of Evolution. You spend ages being normal, and suddenly you're in the REAL WORLD, and it's too fast for you to handle on your own. When Sirius came back from Azkaban, everything changed.
1. A Very Long time Indeed

My dad's antiquated record player is buried under a pile of pink tee shirts I had promised to sell for my mate Donaghan at the concert tonight. I chuck the lot of them unceremoniously onto my unmade bed. Rifling through an old cardboard box, I select Led Zeppelin III and proceed to rock out. I will deal with my troubles later.

Meanwhile: my daily workout. Plant screams in his deliciously muggle way to the anti-melody of "Immigrant Song" as I kick front, front, side, side, back... It makes glorious sense, and this is what I should have spent my life doing. Singing rock and roll music, or becoming a kickboxing instructor. Or just something fucking sane.

I am so damn tired of being a bloody auror, and I've held the job for all of ten months. I have been relegated, so far, to desk work, but it's as complicated as anything I've ever done in Advanced Potions with that git Snape. And it isn't a nine-to-five, either. With the hours I work, I'm doomed to a midlife crisis before the age of thirty. Blast it all, my one night off, and instead of going to see my friends, The Weird Sisters: Live at Stonehenge, I'm destined for more paperwork.

I kick out my frustrations straight through "Tangerine," and sit down on the bed for a rest. Breathing a sigh of semi-contentment, I realize the full extent of my piss-offedness.

Damn. Richard. Bastard. I'd nearly managed to forget about him, but the moment of respite brought the memory of what an ass I've made of myself into focus. For a year- a whole year- I've wasted my life on that fool of a Ravenclaw, and only yesterday I discovered he's cheating on me with someone else. On top of all my work stress I'll have to confront him. It's more than I can bear. I collapse on my sore arms, on the pile of pink shirts, and sob for ten minutes.

Snap out of it, I tell myself. I get up off the mess, shake my head violently until the bright red spikes become long black curls, and do a few more minutes of kickboxing. The occasional stray tear rolls off my cheek, and I elect to ignore it.

Finally I take the record off the record player, run to the loo and yank the shower nozzle until it is emitting boiling-hot fuschia-scented streams of water. I step inside, luxuriate for ten minutes, and escape the heat into the kitchen, throwing on a robe.

I sit down at the table. I lay out a chipped beaker of chai tea, a ream of Ministry parchment, a lime green highlighter, and a tiny toad bobblehead toy (for stress relief) in front of me. I sip the tea, pull the parchment closer, and am millimeters away from bobbing the bobblehead when I hear the doorbell.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. It's Richard, it has to be, and he's going to offer up some apology or excuse, or remind me that he has the Weird Sisters tickets, and that I don't really want to be cooped up in this flat on a Friday night when I could be at Stonehenge, or in Oxford at his flat, in his bed.

I should forget about the doorbell, I tell myself. I should pretend like I'm not home. I nestle more deeply into my work. The bell rings again, this time with a sense of heightened urgency. I will rise, balance the tea and the bobblehead in one hand and the parchment in the other, and gracefully saunter to the recesses of my boudoir. Except this doesn't work, because as usual I fuck everything up, get caught up in the chair, drop and unroll all of the neat parchment, spill the scalding tea all over my bare feet ("BOLLOCKS!" I shout, as if I wasn't noisy enough) and the cute bobblehead lands smack on his head. No use ignoring the door now. Because the bell rings eight times in rapid succession, and whoever's behind it isn't giving up anytime soon.

I hastily clean up the tea mess, resolve to pick up everything else later, and tiptoe warily to the door. My arms are crossed, and I wear what I hope is a no-nonsense expression. I touch my wand to the lock. I turn the knob.

But it isn't Richard. It's someone I haven't seen in years.

"Bloody hell, Remus, is that you? How ever did you find me?" I usher Remus in, and belatedly realize he has a friend with him- a rather large black dog. "Oh, hello there!" I pat the beast's head and he licks my palm.

"How have you been all these years? I haven't seen you since... well, you know." I haven't seen him since just before Sirius had been captured. We used to play together, or rather, he used to play with me, he and Sirius and James and Peter. Long before I went up to Hogwarts. True, it has been years, but I knew him at once because he's the same serious boy with the brown gaze and rather ratty robes I always remembered.

"Nymphadora, please... forgive me." He sits down without invitation in the big squishy chair by the window. I observe him through a moment of silence, and realize belatedly the oddness of the whole situation. Did he just call me Nymphadora? Damn him.

"It's Tonks, Remus, same as always. Let me get you some tea."

The dog follows me into the kitchen. I glance back at the haggard man on my best chair and think back, wondering whether very far-back acquaintances often show up at my front door and silently allow me to wait on them while their dogs follow me around.  
What do I remember about this Remus Lupin fellow from my childhood? I ask as I fish for an inoffensive beaker to pour Remus's tea in. I remember he met me on a visit to the Potters' house in 1979. I was six, and he was nineteen. I was playing with a stuffed hippogriff, and Sirius and Peter and James were romping about the larder, on a quest for snacks. Remus sat beside me on the settee and engaged in a rousing chat with the plushie and me. Each time we met he brought me chocolate. I never knew him as well as Severus, but he was a nice boy then. Have the fourteen years between our last meeting and now changed him? I'm eager to learn what brought him here. Miraculously, I manage not to spill the tea into his lap. I sit on the couch opposite him, the black dog curling up beside me. He drinks deeply, and sets the mug onto the lamp table beside him. Then he looks at me. I hold my breath.

"Forgive me for the Nymphadora bit. I assumed... you had outgrown..." He cleared his throat.

"One doesn't grow into a silly name," I smirk. "It's Tonks."

"It has been a very, very long time."

"Hmmm, yes. Fourteen years." I feel proud of myself for having done the counting already. I am a big girl, I want to prove to him, as I desire to prove to all my new adult friends in the big adult world I am attempting to enter quite unsuccessfully. "I never expected to see you again."

"Nor I you, Tonks." he pauses again. "But circumstances have- er- arisen, that make it... tell me, Tonks, do you have time? Am I preventing you from something?"

I think of my parchment diffused throughout the floor of the kitchen, and I don't really care about it at the moment.

"I am completely unbusy." I pet the scruffy pup with my foot, still sticky from the tea I spilled. "Very well. To begin with... you should know that something happened two weeks ago which will, regardless of your own beliefs toward the subject, affect your job, and your life, greatly in the future."

"We're talking about You-Know-Who, aren't we?", and suddenly my guard is up. I refuse to believe it. This can't be real. The Prophet said... Damn and blast, but I've got enough to be worrying about without adding a possible coupe of the Wizarding government and subsequent pogroms against Muggleborns. I cannot believe it.

He sighs wearily. He can sense my hostility to the subject. "Yes. We are talking about Lord Voldemort."

I cringe.

"He is back; Harry Potter's story is true."

"How do you know?" My voice is even.

"I cannot tell you precisely how just now. I have more to relate at present."

Through my initial, overpowering dismay, I am aware of how annoyed I am by his formality. Lighten up, man! I almost shout at him. I'm twenty-two, not forty.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has orchestrated the beginnings of an effort to fight You-Know-Who, and we heard tell of your up-and-coming talents from one of your co-workers at the Ministry."

Which one? If it's Kingsley, I'll kill the bloody wanker, I think to myself.

"The biggest setback we have at the moment is that, as I'm sure you're aware, the Ministry is uncooperative at best. We have to conduct all our operations in secret. But we need as many insiders at the Ministry as we can get."

"Which is where I come in?" He nods. "So... fourteen years, and now you come in my flat at eleven p.m. and ask me to join some secret mission to fight the reincarnated darkest dark lord of the twentieth century, with your filthy dog dirtying up my carpet?" Another belated realization: my carpet is already horrid. Remus doesn't seem to notice. The dog whimpers.

"Sorry, it wouldn't have been so late. I was given faulty directions. But yes, essentially, that is the reason for my visit."

Some visit. "Can I have a moment?" He nods again. I discover in the silence that the dog likes to be pet just between the shoulder blades. "Can I ask two questions?"

"Of course."

"How many times have you rehearsed that speech?"

"Thousands." The ghost of a smile appears, the first I have seen all evening. "Really, I'm just very articulate. Practiced talking with stones in my mouth, and everything."

Must be a classical reference of some kind. It flies over my head, and I feel ashamed when I remember that at the age of seven Remus once read me Catullus. It has been a very, very long time indeed. I continue to pet the dog, pretending I understood. Remus clears his throat. I look up.

"The second question?" he inquires.

"What's the pup's name?"

"Oh." A pause, then: "Can I tell you something before I tell you that?" I raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

"This may come as a shock to you."

"I like shock." I turn my hair pink and spiky, eliciting a wry smile.

"Very well, then. Sirius Black did not betray the Potters." And it is a shock. A very big shock.

"What?" I ask dimly. I am beginning to believe every word he says, although every word becomes more and more incredible. "It was Peter Pettigrew." He looks tired- I am now looking in his eyes, and they are extremely lovely eyes, but the saddest I have ever seen. I am a collector of people with interesting eyes.

"How is that possible?" I breathe. I feel like I'm in a novel, only it's real, too real. Sirius is innocent? Yes. I believe that. It's what I've wanted to believe all along. I will join Dumbledore, because Sirius is innocent, and that is the worst reason possible for joining a cause, but there you go. I love my cousin. I have missed him, missed his GOODNESS. Missed his friends.

"It's a terribly long story, Tonks."

"Regale me."

"It includes more shocking things." I am silent, but my eyes beg him for more. "Tonks..." His face changes, a flicker of something unexpected passes over it, his eyes meet mine and in a moment it is so intense that the next moment, when it is over, we cannot help but forget it immediately.

"Yes?"

He once more clears his throat, holds my gaze, and I become once more aware of the dog which is now hopping down off the couch and stretching his legs out between Remus and me. But mostly I am anxious to hear his story.

"The first thing you must know is that I am a werewolf." Our gaze breaks and then he recaptures it.

"Ah." My fists clench and then reopen. No need to be afraid. Full moon... two weeks ago...

"Recent development?"

He shakes his head. "I was six when I was bitten." My mouth forms an O. He continues. "When I entered Hogwarts I never expected to find friends at all, much less friends like Sirius, James, and Pettigrew." This last name he nearly spits. "They all became Animagi- unregistered- to accompany me during my transformations. Peter became a rat. When Voldemort rose to power, and James and his wife had to go into hiding, they made all pretense of making Sirius their Secret Keeper, but Sirius and Peter switched places at the last."

"So it was right of Sirius to kill Peter." It all makes sense. But wait: the Muggles...

"Pettigrew transfigured back into a rat and escaped. After feigning his death. And killing a street full of Muggles."

Now it makes more sense. I am completely astonished. "How can you be sure?" I whisper, as it seems an occasion for whispering.  
"Sirius and I saw him. He admitted to it; we were about to kill him once and for all; but then he escaped."

"And he rejoined You-Know-Who?" Remus lowers his eyes. And suddenly part of what he just said comes back to me.

"You've seen Sirius? Is he all right? He's... he's been on the run, but..." Animagus. Shit for brains, Tonks. "Oh, dear God." I look down at the dog, who is patiently watching me with merry eyes. And the dog is definitely not a dog anymore.

Sirius smells like he's been for a bath in the Thames, and looks like Satan invited him over for shopping at Hell's Harrods, and to me he has never looked better. But I don't spare much time for looking, as almost immediately I am throwing my arms around him and he with bony weak arms is twirling me around with the most exhuberant air, and I am reunited with my favorite cousin. I can feel his rash smile against my hair, and more than anything I can feel his soul radiating our from deep within him, though I know it's been suppressed for so long. God, how I have missed you, cousin mine. This I say aloud.

"Tonks, you're a right lovely young woman now." Is that a tear I spot? For I am beginning to feel an onslaught of them from my side.

"Sirius, you look like hell." I grin.

"Same old Tonksie." He pats me on the head. "Wearing the pink, as I like it"

"Always I think of you, Sirius. How come you never told me you were an Animagus?" "It was our secret, mine, Remus's, James's... But the secret's out, thanks to that rat." He shudders. "But now, you have to tell me about what you've been up to for fourteen years"

"Oh, you know, growing up. I'm an auror now, but I guess you know that"

"Yes, I do, and I'm damn proud of you for it. I hoped you would become one."

"I managed to swing it. What about you?"

"Fourteen years of Dementors in Azkaban doesn't make for a very interesting story." He offers a wan smile. I embrace him again, feeling a few tears leak out. "But we can talk later. It's late; I'm sure Remus wants to get back to his flat, and there's still the matter of you joining the Order."

I remember that Remus is in the room, appearing more than a little uncomfortable at the emotional display. I am curious: "What's the Order?"

"The Order of the Phoenix," Remus pipes in. "It's the name Dumbledore gave our group. We've begun setting up headquarters. Will you join? We need all the strong hands we can muster." He takes a few hopeful steps toward me. I brace myself for my reply.

Can I, young, inexperienced Nymphadora, tackle the task of being part of a covert society up in arms against the Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic?

I look at my rediscovered cousin, and his friend, who will become my friend as well, and I look down at my "strong hands" briefly and I look up, and I say:

"Where do I sign up?"

And in a moment, every little problem, every insignificant quandary that plagues me, falls and shatters on the kitchen tiles, forgotten.


	2. Sex Pistols and Reminiscing

It's beginning to feel like a slumber party, this reunion between me and Sirius. Here we are, sitting wrapped in hot pink furry blankets, sipping chocolate out of mugs at three in the morning. We've been talking for hours. Remus apparated back to his appartment after we made plans to meet tomorrow, and reluctantly he left Sirius under my protection for one night. Some protection I'd been. Immediately I pulled Dad's record player into the flat's small sitting room and put on the Sex Pistols, which greatly pleased my cousin, who hadn't heard them since before Azkaban. This relaxing background melody has prevailed throughout our chat, ranging from Muggle music to Wizarding politics, in which I have been doing most of the talking, with only an interruption here and there from dear Sirius. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Fudge is on his way out."

"Makes sense," he chimes in.

"He's like a bloody dragon guarding the very last of his gold. He's not only cooked, he knows it. He's holding on for as long as he can."

"You know he sent Rubeus Hagrid up. No reason at all."

"Sent him... oh, erm, I heard about that." Delicate topic, Azkaban is, I'm sure. Skirting around it.

"I saw him. Tried to smile at him, you know. He didn't even see me."

I keep silent, even though I'm morbidly curious about what the prison was like for him. I sip my chocolate.

"You know, none of them did. That's what guilt will do to you. You keep thinking about what you could have done better, and suddenly you can't live with yourself. You're fucking dementor fodder by then."

Meekly I ask, "How did you deal with it? I mean, obviously, you weren't guilty."

He smiles, and it isn't Sirius's smile. It reminds me of the one time in my whole life I saw Snape smile for real. It was rather horrid.

"We're all guilty. Maybe we were only in the wrong place at the wrong time. I just happened to be self-riteous, and the dementors hate that."

"Oh." We pause, and simultaneously finish our chocolate. I banish the mugs to the kitchen. It's time to change the subject. "So, Lupin's looking... er..."

"Terrible? Atrocious?"

"Older, was the word I was going for. Although the moustache needs to go."

Sirius laughs. "Remus never was one for keeping up appearances. I don't know when he started to grow that thing. Probably just hasn't thought to get rid of it."

I think about the man who arrived at my door hours ago, and about the oddities in his manner. "He's a weird one. Is he really a... you know?"

"A werewolf? Yeah." I shake my head. You think you know a guy...

"Poor man."

"He's used to it."

I smile wanly. "Is he?" But somehow I cannot bring myself to believe that anyone could get used to something like that. I know the way the Ministry treats lycanthropes. Even Mum talks about them like they're scum, and she's one of the most liberal witches out there. "Does he have, you know, much of a job?"

"Remus? Naw. Collects a check every month. He did the Gringotts goblins a favor a couple years back, but he's kept it all hush hush. Still barely enough for rent. He lives over in Brixton." I shudder. "Smart bloke, Remus. I still tease him, you know, but I care about him. He needs... well, I'm too out of touch to know what he needs." Sirius shakes his head. I put my head on his shoulder, and he puts his arm around me. We sit like this for a while, and it's okay.

"It's just been forever since I've seen you. I want it to be like old times, but I know it can't," I say, snuggling into my blanket.

"It can. We can call old Remus up and play hippogriff again." He grins wickedly. "You know, we hounded him about that."

"What?"

"About how he used to play with you. Every day that two weeks in summer. You remember? At James's house? You were, oh, five, six, and Remus couldn't get enough of you. Said you were... what was it? Precocious? Something like that. He tried to read thick Latin books to you, tried to teach you algebra...and you just scrunched up your face and turned your eyes red or something. we all loved you." I am about to cry, for the ninth time tonight.

"I miss James. I even..." I stop.

"You miss Peter?" he asks quietly.

"No. I miss believing everything was okay. You know?"

"I know." We sigh, and drift off into daydreams for a few minutes. Finally I declare that it's time to sleep. I give Sirius my pink blanket, because he will not under any circumstances take my bed away from me, and he curls up on the couch. I pretend to go to my room, but instead I go to the kitchen and work on papers and think about Sirius, and Richard, and Remus, and the stupid bloody Ministry, and I wonder if Sirius is even asleep, because I can't hear him breathing in the next room. And it's now time to wake up. 


	3. A Day In The Life

Last night Remus Lupin and Sirius Black (in Animagus form) showed up at my door to ask me to join the Order of the Phoenix. This is a staement of fact, which runs through my head over and over as I shower, dress, throw a bag of storebought crumpets at the sleeping convict on my couch, and floo to the Ministry. Another day begins. But this one isn't just like all the others. 

I hate Saturday duty. The offices are mostly empty, serving to remind those of us who are stuck here that somewhere out there in the world, people have LIVES. Even the auror offices are nearly deserted. Just me, Kingsley, and my mate Gillian, my informer about The Richard Affair. I spot the two of them chatting over coffee, having not yet started work, and I suddenly don't want to speak to either of them.

"Lovely day, Tonks!"

"Wocher, Kingsley," I shout at him grudgingly. I sit down at my desk and dump the contents of my satchel onto it. Time to finish what I barely started last night. Gillian rises from her discussion with Kingsley and tiptoes into my cubicle.

"Hey, Tonks, what happened at the concert last night? You talk to Richard?"

"Shove off, Gill, you know I couldn't go." I gesture at the mess on the desktop.

"So you haven't talked to him yet?"

"Only to cancel on Stonehenge," I whisper. "I wish you hadn't told me about it."

"You asked to know. You were the one with the suspicion."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to hex him into oblivion at this point, but I've got more important things to worry about. I've decided I don't care who he shags anymore."

"No time for idle chatter, ladies!" Kingsley calls. "Tonks, I hope you're finished with that vampire sighting report. I need it in at ten thirty, and Cate needs to proofread."

"Bugger. Ten thirty?" I settle in, shoo Gill off, and don't communicate properly with another human being until lunch time. At which point I am starving, and in desparate need of coffee. The vampire report is done, as are two other hastily put together pieces of testimony against a witch in Croydon accused of some petty offense. I gather my pile of completed work and hand it in to Kingsley. We are alone in the corridor; Gillian got tired of waiting for me to dish about Richard and went off to dinner with Cate, Kingsley's assistant.

"Nice work, Tonks." He pauses and looks at me thoughtfully. I sense an opportunity to discuss the happenings of last night.

"So, Kingsley, I suppose you know who showed up at my door-"

"Yes, well, we can't discuss that here, can we? Go off and have a bite to eat. I can't leave right now." I am a little surprised at his reaction, but I'm sure I'll have more than enough opportunities to discuss it later. So I go to the restaurant on the second level, betting the girls went out into London for lunch and that I'll have a moment to think. I've never done so much thinking, it seems.

But there they are, giggling. Gill has told Cate all about spotting my man at the Three Broomsticks with that tart, and they are watching me like hawks, wondering what I'm going to say. I arrive with my tray and promptly stuff a handful of crisps into my ravenous orifice.

"Well, Tonks, what are you going to do?"

"Haffrumpmumph?"

"Finish chewing, love," Gill chides.

"About what?"

"Richard." She looks at me like I'm stupid. Probably am.

"Dump him. What else would I do?" Their jaws drop.

"Dump him?"

"Yeah."

"Why not just withold sex? That's what I do."

"And it's good to see that you, Cate, are so happily married."

"Well honestly, Tonks, you can't find a good wizard in Britain these days. And Richard is dead sexy. Plus you two have been together since Hogwarts."

"Not really. Off and on. Besides, why would I stay with somebody who doesn't respect me?"

"Sneaking off with a blonde doesn't equal disrespect, Tonks. Just sex."

"Well, I'm not the worst lover in the world," I assert defensively over a mouthfull of chicken salad. "Why couldn't he stick it out?"

"Men have their needs," Gill replies.

"That's your mother talking. You people are practically medieval. I'm breaking it off with Richard, and that's that." They are quiet. They are looking up, behind me, and I realize that this is one of those moments you read about in the Tales of Trauma in Witch Weekly. "Richard's behind me, isn't he?"

I turn around, and there is the single best-looking wizard to ever give me the time of day, not to mention sleep with me. And he is pissed off.

"Richard."

"Afternoon, love. Missed you at Stonehenge. Too busy discussing me with your little friends?"

I stand up, fuming. "I'm sure you found a suitable replacement. What about that blonde at the Three Broomsticks?"

"What?" His expression changes abruptly. "Where did you hear that?"

"Never you mind, you two-faced bastard. What did you think you were doing? Did you think you'd get away with it? Because you wereterribly mistaken."

"You don't have any proof of that," he spits. His dark eyes are dangerously attractive when he's angry. I hate that about him. Bloody Ravenclaws, they brood too much. I'll never date another Ravenclaw.

"I'm just tired of this, Richard. I'm tired of playing games."

"You're not really trying to break up with me, are you? Not after all we've been through together?"

"Yeah, I am."

"But Tonks," he whines a little pathetically, "we were going to get married. Look, I'm sorry. You're right. I ran into an old friend there and we... we got carried away, you know. But it was just a fluke." The whole cafe is watching us. His voice has dropped to a whisper. Mine is elevated to a roar.

"I don't care. It's over, Richard. Over." I notice Kingsley standing in the doorway, watching the whole exchange. Fuck. I'll hear about this later. I grab my things, and storm out on the crowd, the elevator door just closing before Richard can follow me. Good. I feel sixteen again and I want to cry, but the Richard thing, which has been festering for a year, is over. I hope.

I seethe for a minute or two, and then settle back into work. Richard got the message, or he would have caught the next available elevator and tailed me to my desk. I didn't finish eating, and I'm still hungry. Lucky me. I have a stale bag of Every Flavor Beans in my bottom drawer.

Unlucky me. Bogies taste even nastier when stale.

Ten minutes later, Gill and Kingsley arrive. Gill carefully avoids meeting my eyes when she passes my cubicle. Silly bitch; I know she just can't wait to gossip about it. Kingsley enters and looks frighteningly stern. Oh Shit.

That was an interesting meeting, the humiliating details of which I won't discuss. So now I'm sitting here, seriously reprimanded for bringing personal business into work, and to make matters worse it will be ages before I can bring myself to talk to Kingsley like an adult and ask him about the Order. Which is also stressing me out.

I lean back in my chair and look at the walls of my cubicle: My prized Queerditch Marsh Rockfest '88 poster, with moving photograph of a grungy-looking Myron Wagtail (before he joined the Sisters); my drawing of Mum and Dad I did when I was eight; a card Mum sent me for my birthday; my Hogwarts diploma and my Auror certificate. And there, right before me, is Richard: The day that picture was taken he had accepted his current job as Assistant to the Magical Creatures Office of Misinformation. He had been ecstatically happy. I tear the picture down and rip it in half, then perform a shredding charm on the two halves. Bastard.

Kingsley comes in about a half an hour later. He sees me idle and gives me work to do. He is slightly vexed with me still. Oh, well.

I am counting down the minutes until five o'clock. I am finished with the massive thundering pile of paperwork Kingsley tossed at me. My hand will ache for eternity. Four thirty-seven... thirty-nine... fourty-five... Not a single exciting call in, no horrible incidents in the countryside... What about this You-Know-Who thing? I hate to admit it, but I'm looking forward to WORKING for real when this thing gets heated.

You are crazy, I tell myself.

Finally Gill sneaks in and breaks up the monotony. "I told you it wouldn't be pretty," she gloats.

"Whether you understand it or not, I'm glad it's over." I sniff. "I am not burdened by old-fashioned stigmas. I'm an emancipated woman." And bugger the hell off, I want desperately to add, but I refrain. I am, after all, a lady.

"You know, maybe I was wrong to tell you about what I saw. It wasn't so much of a big deal."

Ha! Four fifty-eight!

"Excuse me, but I have to be getting ready to leave. I've got plans tonight, anyway." With a gallon of Fortescue's Volatile Vanilla and an escaped convict on my couch, I forget to mention.

Eat my dust, Gillian and Kingsley. I am leaving the Ministry, and won't be back until Tuesday.

The first thing I hear when I floo into my flat is "Tonks! Mate! We missed you at the show last night! You never told us you got a dog!"

We've been invaded by rock stars.


	4. A Generally Weird Evening

My readership should be informed about my odd relationship with the Sisters. It all began in the Hufflepuff common room, where I taught Donaghan Tremlett, my best mate, how to play the bass. As time passed and homework procrastination abounded, I exposed him to the greats of Muggle music. Yes, yes. I know. I created the genius that is the Weird Sisters. Then I explained to him very patiently that Celestina Warbeck and her brand of "pop", when played backwards, yielded Satanic messages. Finally he was ready to test the waters of stardom.  
As we grew older and Donnie wanted to form a band, he asked me to be the lead singer. I demonstrated that if this had occurred, the only audience the band would get would be a few toads and Professor Flitwick. So he accosted Myron Wagtail of Ravenclaw, who was already establishing himself as a musician in his own right, and the Weird Sisters were born. The other guys- Heathcote, Herman, Kirley, Orsino, Gideon, and Merton- auditioned, and voila, they were recording an album and going on a European tour.  
While many members of the band, especially darling Myron, are madly in love with me (owing to my superior sexiness, of course), I like to keep it simple and stay unattatched. Besides, they're all far too dirty and hairy.  
"Oy, Tonks! You look a bit flummoxed!" shouts Gideon, the vast bagpipe player wearing a pink tartan kilt and Chuck Taylors. "Wotcher, Gid. You know, bad day"  
"We missed you last night. Where were you? We thought we'd see you around backstage." This from the loud Myron. "Come over and sit 'ere." He pats the couch where there is a very narrow spot between him and the arm. I sit down and immediately regret it. He puts his muscly arm around me and begins to stroke my shoulder. "I had a bloody report to finish, innit, or I'd have been there in a second." I keep the weirded-out-ness and depressed-ness in my voice to a bare min. Instead, I put some pep into my request fot the boys to regale me with how the concert went.  
"Smash, o' course," says Gideon, who has naturally raided my top-secret Honeydukes stash and was munching happily. "Twenty thousand heads, and not but eighteen riots"  
"You call that a smash?" sulks the quiet but oddly snarky Orsino. "Last time we had twenty-five"  
"Yeah, well, at least this time the MLE's didn't swoop down like vultures," says Heathcote, the lead guitarist with dark, leathery skin and golden caps on his two front bottom teeth. Donaghan shoots him a look that means "Get bent. I very cheerfully catch the look, and reply jovially, "No, no, Donoghan, let him say what he will... stupid MLE pussies, don't know what they're doing half the time, anyway." I grin, holding up my Aurur badge I retrieve from my cloak's inner pocket. "Aurors are the only ones who know what we're about"  
Donaghan grins at me and gives me a high five. "Bad Ass Tonks, hmmm"  
"Bet your boots." Myron squeezes me and looks down at me. I avoid his eyes. "So, anyway," I continue, "How did you play? Did they like it? Did you have fun backstage afterwards?" I wink at Merton, the youngest addition to the Sisters, whom they recruited after a stint in Dublin in which they witnessed him playing cello at the hotel they were using as a Fortress of Partying. Merton, it is generally believed by but not divulged to every member of the group, lost his virginity to a fan he had met backstage; his cello playing has certainly become more passionate since the night the incident is reported to have taken place.  
The guys keep me up for two hours, talking, and apart from Myron's constant ministrations, I like it. It makes me feel young again, to know they are still keen on having me listen to them and their antics. But it's getting on and I feel my eyes yearning to stay closed when I blink. I unceremoniously kick them out, dodging Myron's attempted goodbye kiss, and after petting Sirius, they head out and Apparate back to their own flat. Just as I close my door on them, I turn around to find the fully grown Sirius in place of the dog. "You never told me you made it a habit of consorting with rock stars." Sirius is grinning.  
"You like them?" I ask him offhandedly, bending over to pick up the eight or thirty chocolate wrappers Gideon left in his wake. "I do. That Myron bloke got terribly fresh with you, though. I had the keenest urge to box his ears. No one messes with my little Tonks," he explains affectionately as I give him an alarmed look. "Yeah, well, if only you had boxed in Richard's ears..." I mutter, not wanting to cause Sirius's protective feelings to swell again, but wanting to share all the same. It seems he didn't hear me. He is busy glancing around my apartment. "Hmmm," I hear him mutter. "Thinking of setting up shop here?" I ask him hopefully. "'Cause it's too small, but if you wanted to get a bigger place"  
"Nah, I'm staying with Lupin. Although I think... If we weren't about to set up Headquarters... But that's neither here nor there," he finishes with an air of one trying to change the subject.  
I do it for him. "Dinner?" He looks almost like a boy again. I should have offered him something sooner; I had been rather loudly preoccupied. "You got anything vaguely human? Kirley Duke offered me a Doggy Delite, and I didn't want him to think your pooch had bad manners"  
"Er- well, I've got the Volatile Vanilla, and I can whip up some pasta in a mo', and"  
There was the sound, once again, of the doorbell. I looked apologetically at my cousin, who shrugged as he went canine. "Probably just Remus again." I glance warily out the window and see that it is, indeed, Remus, accompanied by Kingsley, Mad Eye Moody, and none other than Albus Dumbledore himself. The three of them make their way past me into my modest parlor, where Sirius Black sat once again. "Do sit down," I manage uncomfortably, not having ever spoken personally with Moody, having been scolded three times by a very peeved Dumbledore, and having just properly become reacquainted with Lupin. They do not sit down at the moment, and instead, Albus steps forward. ""Nymphadora Tonks, I am here to discern the reasons for your interest in joining the Order of the Phoenix. It is our mission to see to it that we cleanse our numbers of the cowardly, the disloyal, and the slothful, so that only the bravest and purest of motive remain"  
"What could possibly be 'impure of motive' about wanting to get rid of You-Know-Who?" I spurt before I can stop myself. Oh, shit, I think to myself, I've gone and done it.  
But the headmaster of Hogwarts laughed a little, and Moody gave a gruff snort. "Got a point, the lass does, Albus. Go on"  
Smiling at her kindly now, Dumbledore continued his speech as the four of them stood just inside the doorway."I will administer a test, which only a true, faithful servant of what is good shall pass. It is necessary, however, that we are alone. Is there another chamber to which we can adjourn?" He looks about him, amused. "I have heard that you are in posession of the Weird Sisters' Edinburgh Extrava-tacular Tour limited edition foil-stamped poster, from Kingsley. I should very much like to see it; I'm a big fan." I catch Lupin and Sirius giving Kingsley, then Dumbledore, awed looks, but don't respond. "Right this way, Professor." I lead him to my bedroom. He is looking around still, greatly amused at something, and Lupin, I notice vaguely as I look back, is mildly interested as well.  
We arrive in my robin-egg blue bedroom, plastered much the same as my cubicle is with posters and sketches and framed portraits. Immediately, Dumbledore gasps in delight as he sees The Poster, and stops for five minutes to stare at it as if it were a posh exhibit by a famous painter. Then he wheels on his heels and looks me in the eyes quite unexpectedly, our noses nearly touching as it registers how close he is.  
I get the feeling he is searching me on the inside, and it's not a Legilimency feeling, either. All Aurors in training have to endure that experience at least once in our education so we'll know what it's like. And all have fairly rigorous Occlumency lessons too, although I was never at the top of that class. But it's almost as if he were probing my soul, willing it to do something mutinous. 'I have quite a normal soul, thank you very much," says a voice inside me, and at this, Dumbledore laughs, pulling away.  
He shook his head. "You are going to be a joy to work with, Miss Tonks." "What about the test?" I ask rather stupidly.  
"You have already passed it," he answers enigmatically, with the kind of amused eye-twinkle that only he can pull off.  
I beam in pride, feeling I have never pleased so great a wizard as Dumbledore before. A silly Hufflepuff; I had pleased Dumbledore!  
"Thank you, Sir." I waited on him to go through the door I held open.  
He looked as if he wanted to offer to hold the door instead, wisely thought better if it, and then we all joined the others. 


End file.
